You Were
by nankamo
Summary: You can't tell me that in all the time you were his manager, you weren't attracted to him at least once. Between you and me, you were right? [K and Ryuichi]


**Author's Notes:** Dunno why I'm botherin with this since no-one's gonna read it, but hell, a little optimism never hurt anybody ne? Anyway... this fic's about K... and Ryuichi, so I suppose you could take it as being KxRyuichi. The writing in italics is part of Shuichi's dialogue to K in Gravitation Vol. 11.

**Warnings:** Firearms (duhhh, K's in it) violence (again, K's in it) and references to homosexuality (DUUUUHH! GRAVITATION!)

**Disclaimer: **Want a K... :( but he's Murakami Maki's...

**You Were**

K hummed quietly, reloading his colt.44. He could see his reflection in the side of it, warped. His head was too long and too thin.

_You can't tell me that in all the time you were his manager, you weren't attracted to him at least once._

"Nope," he murmured. The gun made a satisfying 'click' as he pushed the barrel back in place. He wasn't sexually inclined that way. Good looking as Ryuichi was, he didn't have the soft curves of a woman. His face was round and effeminate and his lips were full, but despite being 31, Ryuichi was still a child. That was why K felt he needed to protect him. He needed to protect his childlike naïveté from those who would take advantage of it.

_Between you and me, you were, right? _

Of course not. He wasn't like those perverse bastards. That Tatsuha kid, he was the worst of them all. Beguiling and sneaking, pretending his interest in Ryuichi was nothing but platonic when clearly, it wasn't. K's grip on the handgun tightened. How he'd love to watch that Uesugi kid dance from his bullets, watch him wave his hands in placation. He'd love to pretend to reconsider, so that Tatsuha sighed in relief, and then blast a hole, right through his big, thick head. So the last expression that registered on his face would be one of startled horror, before he crumpled to a heap on the floor. And he, K, would blow the smoke from the end of his gun, like a hero in an old Western, and stride away triumphantly.

Sadly, murder was illegal in this country. So was the possession of firearms, but that never seemed to stop him from carrying a small arsenal of semi-automatic weapons, or firing them for that matter. He frowned, placing the handgun back into its holster.

"Mister K!" Ryuichi's face lit with glee as he leapt through the air to tackle his ex-manager with a hug. "Mister K! Mister K! I drew a picture for you!" Releasing K for the moment, he rummaged in his back pockets. After removing a furry piece of pink bubblegum, 2 half-melted crayons, a yellow yo-yo, a potato chip that looked amazingly like Che Guevara and a dirty spoon, Ryuichi finally located what he was looking for. He held out the crumpled piece of paper with both hands, beaming proudly. K took it from him and smoothed it out. There was a large yellow scribble to the left, which was smiling maniacally. It had stick arms and legs, drawn in purple, and was holding a something, which didn't look entirely unlike a machine gun. To the right were the words 'Mister K, best manijer EVER' scrawled in English. "Well? Well? You like it? You like it?" Ryuichi was practically bouncing with nervous energy, looking expectantly at the American. K smiled gently. "I love it. Here, I brought Kumagoro back from the drycleaners."

"Huh?" K handed the stuffed rabbit to Ryuichi, who stared at it in wonder, before instinctively gnawing on its floppy ear. "Wow! Thanks K! Kumagoro tastes FABU now!" K laughed heartily and led the way back to the car, with Ryuichi babbling to him incoherently and tugging on his sleeve.

As he drove through the packed streets, K could still hear Ryuichi's nonsensical chatter from the back seats. How could he ever think anything even vaguely sexual about Ryuichi? How could anyone? K had a beautiful wife and a great son, and even if he didn't, Ryuichi was just a kid. So what if he strode out onto stages wearing outfits that could make even the most heterosexual of men hard, gyrating his hips and making thousands of woman faint. The same Ryuichi held conversations with a stuffed rabbit, couldn't even write his own name in kanji...

Jealously had nothing to do with it. K was not jealous of some dipshit monk whose balls hadn't even dropped yet. Ryuichi never even remembered Tatsuha's name, but he always remembered K's. He looked down at the crude portrait, holding it to the steering wheel with his thumb. K smiled smugly before slamming the brakes on as some unfortunate old woman attempted to cross the road in front of him. He idly poked the car horn, before zooming off through a set of traffic lights that were on red. From the back seats, Ryuichi yawned. "I'm tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired…" he whined. K adjusted the rear view mirror so he could better see the legendary vocalist, who had now fallen fast asleep, still cuddling Kumagoro.

* * *

Thanks for readin! Like? No like? Want me to carry on? In a RyuK direction? 


End file.
